


you left me living (with a lingering soul)

by itsalongstory



Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Murder House
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-29
Updated: 2018-11-29
Packaged: 2019-09-01 11:21:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16764148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsalongstory/pseuds/itsalongstory
Summary: Billie Dean knows it the moment she finally meets Nora. She's breaking the number one rule of being a medium: Don't fall in love with a ghost.Title taken from Paint by The Paper Kites.(Rated for language).





	you left me living (with a lingering soul)

**Author's Note:**

> I love these two so much and desperately wish they had screen time together :,) 
> 
> Most of the 20s slang should be easy to understand, but "century" means $100.

In hindsight, it wasn't the best idea Billie Dean Howard had ever come up with. She doesn't even like being there, _the murder house_ , but something about this feels necessary. If no other excuse, Billie Dean adores helping people, and with fervor those who didn't have the means to help themselves. 

Thus, that's how she ends up with a fist against Constance's front door, the other hand fidgeting with the hem of her cardigan. 

Constance has the audacity to look almost surprised. 

"Can I-" Billie Dean begins. She's dying for a cigarette. 

Constance talks before she can. "Go visit your stupid ghosts." And if Billie Dean looks, _really_ looks, she can see something warm in the back of Constance's eyes. It's what spurs her to actually go.

She hovers outside the door, lifting a hand to knock. Then she realizes.

For a medium, she's not exactly an expert on the _concept_ of ghosts. 

It feels rude to just barge in, but she does, not terribly shocked that the door is unlocked. She had expected a smattering of ~~people~~ in the kitchen and living room, but the only one there is Moira. The maid looks up from dusting a countertop that was already pristine. "Everyone is upstairs preparing their costumes." She offers, as an explanation. "Surely you know what day it is." 

Billie Dean honest-to-God hadn't, but she smiles anyways. _This is good_ , she thinks. Maybe they can take a walk, or go bowling.

 _They_ as in her and Nora, except not for sure. Out of all the spirits she'd been forced to deal with in this stupid house, Nora had never shown herself. Tate had told her, once, that she wasn't the happiest of spirits, and had taken to staying out of trouble (and in turn, sight). _Despite being better than ma,_ he'd said, _she's hopelessly depressed. She regrets her entire existence, but can't think of a way she could have fixed it. She longs for a life that isn't hers._

The brilliant idea had come to her while she was watching The Great Gatsby alone at the theaters. The beaded 1920s dresses reminded her, and she suddenly _needed_ to see Nora. 

Anyways.

"Do you know where Nora hangs out?" Billie Dean questions, still slightly uncomfortable.

"She's always in the basement." Moira muses. "Doesn't like to hang around everyone else much. Not after the baby."

Billie Dean nods, but doesn't fully understand. She grips the railing impossibly tight as she takes the stairs down. It occurs to her, abruptly, that she doesn't know at all how to go about it. If Nora desperately doesn't want to be seen, Billie Dean won't be able to help it, even being who she is. She can't interact without participation of two (including herself)- it's in the very definition of the word. So she flicks on a light in the dark room, and doesn't sit. She _knows_ Nora's down here. She can feel it in her very bones as she's always been able to. "Nora?" Billie Dean speaks softly. No one responds, to her face or to her mind, and she wonders if her voice was nice-sounding enough. "Nora, I want to talk to you. Not for any particular reason, I just-" She huffs. It's hard, sometimes, talking to ghosts. 

A cough startles her, and she looks up to see the woman stepping from out of nowhere. Nora is fragile, in every curve of her posture, but she's _really pretty_. Her curly blonde hair is in an updo and her lips are painted cherry red and her eyes are blue and- "Who are you?" 

"You've never seen me here?" Billie Dean asks, in genuine shock. But, then again, she's never seen _Nora_ here- the one who's been here since the '20s.

Nora shakes her head. 

"I'm Billie Dean Howard." She musters up, stepping forward with caution. Because, frankly put, the dead one seems skittish. She would look less dead if she dropped the old gowns, Billie Dean thinks, but it feels wrong to picture Nora in anything else. 

Nora's just staring at her. Billie Dean stares back, but her mind is trying desperately to think of a way to make this better. Less awkward, at the very least. She's not sure it's possible. "Oh." Nora says, suddenly. "Heavens, I didn't even introduce myself. Though I'm sure you already know a lot about me. They all do." She shakes her head, then steps forward too, so she can shake Billie Dean's hand. "I'm Nora Montgomery." And oh, her hands aren't half as cold as Billie Dean thought they would be. They're warm, and her nails are varnished in red, and from this distance her perfume fills Billie Dean's nostrils. It smells expensive, and sort of like dust, but she inhales like it's a drug. 

"It's nice to meet you." 

"Pleasure." 

"You know it's Halloween, right?" Billie Dean finds herself blurting. She internally reprimands herself- _What the fuck was that?_ but doesn't apologize. She does want to know the answer.

Nora laughs, and it sounds like the laughter she'd heard in old Hollywood movies but real. It's like Nora's a time machine within a ~~person~~. "Of course. Why do you ask?"

"Do you want to go somewhere?" Billie Dean blurts, again. _What the fuck has gotten into you?_

"I haven't much else to do." Nora admits, and it takes Billie Dean a minute to decide that means yes. "I don't wish to spend the evening with Charles." 

Right. Charles. Her husband. That she killed, to be fair. So maybe he doesn't hold that status anymore, in Nora's heart. 

"Meet me outside at six." Her voice is giddy, much like that of a schoolgirl's, and she has to tell herself that it's okay to be celebrating this tiny victory. 

Billie Dean's palms are sweating like never before, and she has to walk especially slow so as not to trip in her peach pink stilettos. She's nervous, yes, but also dying to make a good second impression. She wants Nora to have fun, which she could guess the ghost hasn't had in a while. 

And- bam- she's there. Tall and stunning, strolling down the walkway in gold high heels and wrapped in a white shawl. Billie Dean can understand why she was popular in her time. Because Nora has the sort of energy that has everyone looking at her. And so much of that attractive sort of light has left, Billie Dean thinks. It's still there; it drew in Billie Dean with wonder, but her ~~life~~ is plagued with sadness. It's plain to see, really, in her always damp eyes and the way she always hides. 

"Ms. Howard." Nora says, in the form of a greeting. She holds out a gloved hand, and Billie Dean shakes it like she had earlier. The silk fabric slides against her fingers. "Where are we going?"

"When's the last time you saw a film?" Billie Dean hooks her arm around Nora's elbow as she asks, pulling them the rest of the way to her car. Nora bites her lip and gets in, and Billie Dean watches her intently once she slides into the driver's seat.

"I don't know." She says it as if she's surprised. 

"I'm sure movie theaters are a lot different since you've last been." Billie Dean begins driving then, forcing her eyes onto the road. 

"If the horrific devices the Harmons put in the kitchen are any indication, then I would agree." Nora mutters. She's oddly witty for someone growing up when women weren't expected to be so. And Billie Dean _loves it_. She was probably ahead of her time, the medium notes to herself. 

"Well, I hope you don't think of the movie as horrific. I saw it last week. It reminded me of you." 

"How's that?" Nora seems genuinely intrigued. 

Billie Dean hums, thinking. Then she answers: "It's set in the 20s. The Great Gatsby...?" She ventures, tugging her bottom lip between her teeth. She has no idea when the book came out, and she thinks Nora died in something like 1926, but did she even read books? 

"Ah." Nora exhales. There's sweet recognition in her voice and Billie Dean keeps biting her lip to stop from sighing of relief. "Yes, I know of it. Charles liked literature more than I. There wasn't much time; he kept me busy..."

 _Oh._ Billie Dean really needs to stop forgetting Nora’s past. Her thoughts stumble over each other, desperate to think of an appropriate change in subject. "Do ghosts eat?" _Wow. Good one, Billie Dean. You really know nothing about ghosts, huh?_

Nora giggles, light and airy. It's more girlish and carefree than earlier in the basement, and shoots a smile straight to Billie Dean's face. "No." 

"Damnit, then. Guess I'm gonna have to eat all the popcorn by myself." She keeps her tone light, just so Nora knows she's not really mad. Sarcasm.

"Apologies." Nora says. The amusement still pulls at her voice.

Luckily, the cinema isn't too far, and the silence doesn't last. Billie Dean opens Nora's car door. ( _She's probably used to the chivalry_ is how she justifies it). And Nora takes her arm as they walk towards the theater. Billie Dean watches Nora's wide eyes at the few arcade games in the lobby-- and the way everyone else is dressed. 

"I feel as if..." Nora whispers, hot in Billie Dean's ear. They're in line for snacks now, and she's hyper aware of everyone that so much as glances at her. "I should have put on something different." 

Billie Dean doesn't have the chance to reply because she has to order her popcorn, but she reaches for Nora's gloved hand and squeezes. When she's done ordering and she gets the giant bag of buttery carbs, she turns to Nora. "You look beautiful." She says. Their eyes meet, and Billie Dean can _see_ how flustered the compliment makes her.

"Thank you." Nora says. She doesn't sound quite like herself. 

Billie Dean just smiles. "Come on."

They sit towards the back, and Nora seems at least mildly in wonderment, but she doesn't speak on it. 

"So, how'd you like it?" They're back in Billie Dean's car now. Nora's clutching the leftover popcorn bag.

"It was..." Nora pauses. "The bees knees." 

Billie Dean can't control her smile. "I'm glad. Was it an accurate representation of the twenties?" She really needs to stop stealing glances at Nora; they're going to get in a car accident if she keeps it up. But she's just so pretty. And seeing her like this- outside of the murder house (even though this is only the 2nd time she's seen her _ever_ )- makes her feel like she could get used to it. But, of course, she can't. Even if she wants to. 

She forces her thoughts to shut the fuck up. 

"Yes. I never went to such extravagant parties, though. Charles preferred the smaller gatherings. I would get all dolled up, only to yammer on about business with people." Nora huffs with false humor. "Then, when he got bent, I had to drag him home." 

"Bent?"

"Too much liquor." 

"Ah." It's easy for Billie Dean to forget that Nora's been through so much. Hell, she _killed_ herself. Willingly. Ate a bullet. And yet she seems so ethereal- if not a tiny bit mentally unstable. "You know, I really like hanging out with you."

Nora looks bewildered. "Really?"

"Yeah." Billie Dean says, gentle. "You don't have to go back til the morning, right?"

"That's right."

"Do you want to-" She sighs. _Fucking words._ "Do you want to come spend the night at my house? We can do all those stupid girly slumber party things."

Billie Dean is convinced Nora's going to say no. She can hear it. But then- another bubbly giggle. "You _slay_ me!" 

It's so out of character Billie Dean starts to wonder if it's _in_ character. Maybe this is how Nora always was. Before the trauma and her fucked up husband and the pile of ashes that were once her dreams. She can picture it if she really tries: Nora dancing and laughing and making people starry-eyed with the slang spoken in her Hollywood voice. _Shit._

Nora trails her fingers over every single surface in the house. 

"Do you want something to drink?" Billie Dean asks, wiping her sweaty palms on her dress.

Nora just waits.

"Oh, right. Fuck me." 

"Excuse me?" Nora appears undoubtedly appalled, and Billie Dean's ready to leave her home and run far away and never come back.

"It's just an expression. Usually used in a self deprecating manner." _Please let me die right now._

"You have such silly phrases." Nora mutters. She yawns. 

"Tired?" And she's _so_ relieved at how quickly Nora dropped it.

"Yes, but. Weren't we going to have fun?"

_Oh, dear lord._

"Why don't we get ready for bed first?" Billie Dean proposes. Nora nods, and follows her down the hallway. "I might have an extra toothbrush around here-"

"I don't need to." Nora interrupts. "I take pleasure in applying my makeup every day, but I haven't aged and my hair hasn't grown since 1926, I think." 

"Oh, right. Well, give me a second then. Here's a makeup wipe." She hands one to Nora as she starts closing the bathroom door. "Go in my second drawer and pick out some pajamas."

And when Billie Dean steps out of the bathroom, she has to do a double take. Nora's hair is down, spilling over her shoulders. She's wearing a white thin-strapped nightgown. "If you looked beautiful earlier, I can't even describe you now."

Nora's cheeks are red. "It's funny." She says, looking into Billie Dean's eyes.

"What is?" 

"It's simply that," she steps closer. "I think I might be falling in love with you. It's not right." 

Billie Dean can't stifle the shocked noise that leaves her throat. Oh. Oh God. "Seriously?"

"Heavens, I'm not sure what's come over me." Nora fans herself with her hand. She looks more stressed than Billie Dean feels.

"Hey." Billie Dean catches her wrist. She pulls Nora in so that they're almost touching. There's this line she knows, from some old show. "Cash or check?"

Nora's eyelids flutter in surprise, as if she isn't the one who just confessed real ~~life~~ love. Billie Dean smiles at her, trying to be encouraging. Nora leans forward. "I'll give you a century." She presses a kiss to Billie Dean's lips. It's barely there, like a ghost. Ironic. "I don't feel bad about that."

"Neither do I." Billie Dean whispers. She rests her forehead on Nora's.

"I'm dizzy with a dame." Nora says. She laughs, uncontrollably. Billie Dean isn't sure if she's ever going to stop. Not sure if she wants the sound to leave her ears.

Billie Dean wakes alone. She really shouldn't have let herself expect otherwise; would've saved her a lot of moping, but here she is. There's a note on the kitchen counter when she finally, begrudgingly, gets out of bed. In loopy cursive, it reads:

_I owe you $99._

Yeah- she's definitely going back.

**the end (but not really, of course)**


End file.
